


Until You Love Me

by NastyBambino



Series: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: All hurt no comfort, Anal Sex, Blood, Dark Tony Stark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Forced Feminization, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Stalking, Violence, as in Peter decks Tony, briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20684039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NastyBambino/pseuds/NastyBambino
Summary: Never meet your heroes.orTony finds a little spider and decided to keep him, whether he wants it or not.





	Until You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> My friend inspired me so I wrote something fucked up. *throws this* Unbeta'd cuz I'm a heathen so all mistakes mine. Hope you enjoy!

Peter doesn’t realize what’s going on until it’s too late, until he feels the pain of a needle in his neck and a bag over his head. His last few moments of lucidity are spent regretting not getting a ride from May despite it being so late, _too late_, for him to be walking home by himself. He’s in and out of it during, what he suspects, is a car ride somewhere, so often that he’s sure he’s so far from home that he’d never be found. He hears muffled voices and gets flashes of light through the bag. He wonders why his spider senses didn’t go off, wonders how he was able to be drugged, wonders who took him. He wonders and wonders and _wonders_. He stays out for the rest of the ride, comes to in a far-too-nice bedroom. He barely rolls onto his side before freezing at the noisy clank of chains against his chest.

He sluggishly sits up, holding his head, before feeling around his neck. His heart falls into his stomach at the warm metal under his fingertips. “No,” he breathes, chest tightening with panic. “No. This can’t be happening. _This can’t be happening._” He shuts his eyes tight, to the point of pain, hoping, _praying_, that he’s dreaming, that he’ll wake up any moment. He opens his eyes and tries to breathe, to stay calm. “Come on. You can break it. Don’t panic yet.” He tugs with all his strength at the chain and pales when it doesn’t budge. Instead, pain shoots through his palms and fingers; he drops it and stares at his reddened hands, not used to feeling weak. He stands on wobbly, weak legs, head spinning so intensely that he throws up next to the bed. He wipes his mouth and coughs, gasping for each breath as the panic takes over. He looks around the room through swimming vision and catches a full-body mirror. He stumbles over to it, barely noticing that the chain is long enough to reach the other side of the small but spacious room and no further.

He grips the frame of the mirror and tilts his head back, looking at the collar. It’s more technical than he thought it would be, seeing multiple lights and a mechanical lock for the edge of the chain. He shudders and slumps against the mirror, welcoming the cool glass on his overheated, panicking body. He finally lets himself drop to his knees then onto his butt, running his hands through his hair and trying to get his breathing under control. The click of a lock has his whole body freezing, head snapping up to the door across the room. He scoots as far back as possible, until his back is pressed against the wall. It opens, and his jaw drops.

“M-Mr. Stark?” he whispers, feeling himself fill with hope for escaping. Tony smiles gently at him, walking over and crouching down in front of him, bare arms resting on his knees.

“Hey there, Petey-pie,” he greets. “How are you settling into your new room?” His chest freezes as he gets a sinking feeling.

“N-New room?” Tony chuckles and nods.

“You’re mine now, Peter.” Peter stares at him, uncomprehending and unblinking, as his words sink in. His eyes start to fill as he shakes his head.

“No. _No_.” Tony sighs and reaches out for him, frowning when Peter flinches away so violently that his head thuds against the wall.

“I know this is a lot to take in-“

“Take me back home!” His eyes harden, and Peter has to swallow back a shudder. This isn’t the man he knows, the man that he’s grown up idolizing.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, sweetheart.” He should probably heed the warning, but he’s never really had much of a self-preservation instinct.

“Take me home, **now**.” Tony sighs, and there’s a bruising grip on his chin before he can even blink. He yelps and tears up at the pain, frightened eyes focused on his still cold ones.

“I can hurt you, precious,” he warns. “I can hurt you as much as I want, and you won’t be able to do a _damn_ thing about it.” He gives a toothy grin. “That pretty little piece around your neck is tailored to your DNA, to take away every single piece of you that makes you super except for that nifty little healing factor of yours.” Peter chokes out a sob and weakly grabs at his forearm, digging his nails in. Tony doesn’t so much as _blink_ at the pain. “You’re mine, Peter. My pretty little spider.”

* * *

Peter is in a daze after Tony leaves him in the room with two men in masks, barely fighting as they shove into the bathroom. They have the decency to let him relieve and bathe himself, only coming in once to leave clothes on the counter. The collar stays put the whole time, ruining one of the ways Peter thought he would be able to get it off. He feels himself getting sick again as he goes through the clothes laid out for him (no doubt chosen by Mr. Stark). There’s nothing but a pair of Iron Man-themed cotton panties and a lengthy silk robe. He forces his eyes shut as he jerkily gets dressed, closing the robe as tight as he can around his body as his face reddens in embarrassment and shame.

He leaves the bathroom and is immediately led out of the room and down a long hallway. He stops at what he suspects is the door to Tony’s bedroom. He’s proven right when it’s opened and he’s shown a lavish bedroom with one Stark standing in the middle of the room looking at displays, back turned to them in a lack of worry. Anger flares up at the blatant disrespect, at being seen as a non-threat despite his abilities. _You don’t have them right now though, do you?_ he laments. The fire stays burning low in his gut as he stares defiantly at Tony who glances at him over his shoulder. He turns fully, and his eyes rake up and down Peter’s form. He curls in on himself in disgust and does his best to hide his body from him. The door closes behind him as he starts to advance on him. He backs up against the closed door and balls his fists up as Tony gets close. When he starts to lean in, mouth open to speak, he swings.

Tony falls back, taken by surprise, and Peter takes the chance to tug open the door and take off running. There’s nothing but the long stretch of hallway and silence besides his own racing heart and the thud of his feet against the carpet. He skids to a stop, and his feet burn, eyes going back and forth as he makes a random turn. He tries to find an elevator, a window, _something_. He finally finds something like a living room and feels something wild take him over as he looks at the windows. He rams his shoulder into it full force, having to bite back a cry at the pain that shoots through his shoulder. He looks around for a lamp or a chair but sees nothing but heavy furniture. He tries his luck at lifting it but can’t manage no matter how hard he tries, barely lifting it up off the ground let alone being able to throw it. He hears footsteps coming down the hallway and dives behind a couch, curling up as small as possible and covering his mouth with his hand.

“_Peter_,” Tony sing-songs as he steps into the room. Peter trembles as he tries to keep his breathing quiet and under control. “I know where you are, little spider. You can’t hide from me.” They get closer to the middle of the room. “I’ll always find you.” Things are silent for a few moments, until Tony starts to walk around again, moving closer and closer to the couch he’s hiding behind. He lays down fully, pressing himself into the floor and clenching his eyes shut. Quiet for a moment. Then another. Then another. He chances opening his eyes and screams behind his hand at Tony hovering over his face. “**Boo.**” He scrambles to get away only to be pulled back to the ground by his ankle and forced onto his stomach, cheek ground into the carpet. The force of his head against the ground has his vision swimming and pain throbbing in his skull even as he kicks and yells as best as he can.

“GET OFF OF ME!” He kicks out only for Tony to drop his full weight on him. He freezes for a moment when he hears the clink of a belt before renewing his struggle and bucking like a wild animal. “NO!”

“I _really_ wanted to do this in a bed, Peter,” he grunts over Peter’s protests as he shoves his own pants down with his boxers, “but then you had to go and _hit me._” He lets out a choked cry as fingers twist in his hair and wrench his head back violently, to the point that he’s struggling to breathe. “Your first time could have been real sweet.” A sob is trapped in his throat when hands shove the robe up and tug the panties down, and he doesn’t have enough leverage to get away. Tony spits on his hole, and it’s _disgusting_, leaves Peter feeling _tainted_ and forces the reality of the situation to settle in his gut with almost overwhelming nausea, bile threatening to rise up his throat. A thumb forces its way in painfully, and he can’t hold back the keen of pain as his body is forced to give under the pressure.

“You’re a lot tighter than I expected.” The chuckle has him swallowing back bile this time with a shudder as tears start to stream down his face. “You’re going to feel so, fucking, _good._” Each word is punctuated by painful thrusts until he’s hooking his thumb and prying him open that way. It hurts more than anything else in its intimacy and violation, and he tries to force himself to relax to make the pain go away. He tries to focus on something else to shove the pain to the back of his head, to focus on getting out alive to get back to May. Tony shakes him by his hair and snarls. “Focus on me, Peter. I’m the one doing this to you. You don’t get to escape.” The thumb leaves and is replaced quickly by a blunter, slicker pressure; Peter tries to wrench himself free in one last burst of energy.

“Don’t! **LET ME GO!**”

“Fat chance.” Tony shoves in, wrenching out a scream that shreds Peter’s throat and seems to echo around the room. He feels him moving above him through the thick fog that takes over his mind trying to block out the searing pain between his legs and the groaning in his ear. He feels something slick spreading across his thighs, barely registers that he’s most likely bleeding. “You’re so pretty, Peter. Prettier than you have any goddamn right to be, you -_fuck_\- know?” The hand in his hair lets him go, and his head lolls forward, hanging between his shoulders. “The moment I saw you, I knew -_shit_\- I knew I had to have you.” Tony licks up his neck to his ear and moans in it before leaning a little more over him and licking at his tears. “You’re even a pretty crier.”

Time is lost on his as Tony moves inside of him, raining praises of his beauty and brains, of his observations while following Peter around. He vaguely wonders if the sick feeling will ever go away, if he’ll ever hear such compliments without bile clawing at his throat. Tony’s thrusting becomes erratic along with his breathing, and Peter knows it’s almost over, thanks every deity above it’s almost over. His cum is fresher pain, salt in wounds that he can’t help do anything to heal. The body on top of him is heavy, almost dead weight, and almost as unbearable as the post-coital moans that he feels more than hears. Tony pulls out, cum following him, and uses the robe to wipe himself clean. Peter collapses and curls into a ball of agony, shaking and paid no mind as he tucks himself away and fixes his pants.

“I’ll have someone take you back to your room, sweetheart.” A kiss is pressed to his temple before he’s walking away, leaving Peter on the floor in a pool of their mixed fluids. He lets unconsciousness take him as hands grab him and carry him like precious cargo back to the room he woke up in.

_Never meet your heroes._

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was fucked up. Kudos and comments always welcome. Thanks for reading!


End file.
